Another Dusting

Another dusting of snow has hit the neighborhood.  Not sure why, but it inspires me to read poetry.  I know right, spring snow = poetry.  What’s up with that?  Maybe it’s holding on to the still, before spring in ernest pulls me back outdoors.  Yes, I struggle with productivity once the warm weather hits.  I want to get on my bike and travel down route 77 to where the air turns thick with the ocean air or sit on the beach with a book, digging my feat in the warm sand.

I’ve always admired poets.  I noticed that once again last Saturday.  I was facilitating a writing group at the library.  There were many poets in the room.  These writers created an image using sparse language in a way that I never can.  I can’t help it, I’m wordy.

I’m hoping that by reading more poetry, I can learn to edit myself.  To turn my prose into something simpler, more precise. We’ll see if it works!


by: William Blake (1757-1827)

    • THOU with dewy locks, who lookest down
      Through the clear windows of the morning, turn
      Thine angel eyes upon our western isle,
      Which in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring!
      The hills tell one another, and the listening
      Valleys hear; all our longing eyes are turn’d
      Up to thy bright pavilions: issue forth
      And let thy holy feet visit our clime!
      Come o’er the eastern hills, and let our winds
      Kiss thy perfumèd garments; let us taste
      Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy pearls
      Upon our lovesick land that mourns for thee.
      O deck her forth with thy fair fingers; pour
      Thy soft kisses on her bosom; and put
      Thy golden crown upon her languish’d head,
      Whose modest tresses are bound up for thee

About julietruekingsley

Crazed writer living on the coast of Maine! Attempting to blog daily in fifteen minutes or less.
This entry was posted in Maine, writing and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to Another Dusting

  1. Mary Jane Rowan says:

    Poetry will do it every time!

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